by Chris Ryan
‘You don’t know the actual day?’ said Marlow.
‘She’s a grown woman,’ said Nick gruffly. ‘I don’t speak to her every day.’
‘But you were suspicious?’ said Laura.
Nick nodded. ‘She’d never go more than a few days without contacting someone.’
‘Your daughter drank heavily,’ said Laura.
‘I know,’ snapped Nick.
‘And took drugs.’
Nick paused. He didn’t know that, but it didn’t surprise him either. Sarah had a talent for getting herself into trouble. She had done ever since she was a teenager. ‘She wasn’t just on a bender,’ said Nick. ‘For starters, they never lasted that long. Next, there was money in her account.’
‘A hundred thousand,’ said Laura.
‘You know?’
‘We’ve been keeping tabs on Sarah for a while.’
‘Because of what she was working on?’
‘Precisely.’ Laura’s tone was clipped, businesslike, but Nick reckoned there was an emotion in there somewhere. As if she was still concealing something, and that made her uncomfortable.
‘Cold fusion,’ said Nick.
‘It’s a very important piece of science,’ said Laura. ‘If Sarah has made the breakthrough we think she has, and I’m not really qualified to say whether she has or hasn’t, then it has global implications. It matters for the state. And we’re concerned about Sarah’s safety as well, of course.’
‘Bollocks,’ Nick snapped. ‘You don’t give a toss for anyone’s safety except your own.’
‘Watch your language, Nick,’ said Marlow. ‘You’re not on an oil rig now.’
‘I’ll speak as I like,’ said Nick. He looked back at Laura. He despised himself for wanting to impress her, but he did. ‘Her professor has been working for the Iraqis,’ he said.
‘For some years, yes,’ said Laura.
‘So why the hell haven’t you arrested him?’ said Nick angrily.
‘We wanted to, as soon as we were aware of the full magnitude of the situation,’ she said. ‘We were trailing him to find out who his handlers were. There must be senior Iraqi agents controlling him in this country, and we want to know who they are. Unfortunately, he seems to have vanished.’
‘Just like Sarah …’
‘That’s why we were monitoring his office,’ said Laura. ‘When we saw you going in there, we had to intervene. We don’t want amateurs crashing into an investigation that is being handled by us.’
Nick glared at her. ‘She’s in Iraq, isn’t she?’
Laura paused. ‘She may well be,’ she said. ‘Right now, we really have no idea where she might be. We’re doing our best to find out.’
‘She’s in fucking Iraq. I know it.’
‘I’ve already told you to watch your language,’ Marlow snapped.
‘My daughter’s in the middle of what’s about to become a bloody war zone, so I’ll swear if I want to,’ Nick snapped back. ‘Why do the Iraqis want cold fusion, anyway? They’re already sitting on top of half the oil in the world.’
‘Precisely,’ says Laura. ‘If cold fusion works, Saddam and the rest of the Arabs are back to growing dates for a living. If Saddam gets control of this technology, he can bury it. Even better, he can threaten his neighbours that he’ll release it, so destroying their economies. It will give him control over all the Middle Eastern oil, which is what he has always dreamt about. And that would allow him to hold the West hostage as well.’ She paused, glancing at Marlow. ‘It would make him the most powerful man in the world.’
‘I thought we were invading because of WMD?’ said Nick.
Laura laughed, flicking away a few strands of her blonde hair with her right hand. ‘That’s just to bring the bearded polytechnic lecturers on the Labour back-benches on board. It’s much more serious than that.’
‘As serious as getting my daughter back,’ said Nick.
Laura didn’t respond. She was turning to the television behind the desk. News 24 had cut to live pictures from Baghdad. Marlow, perched on the edge of the desk, was also peering at the TV screen, his expression intent, focused, as if he was searching for something.
What the hell are they looking for, wondered Nick. ‘Are you serious about getting my daughter back?’ he said, his voice louder this time.
Laura glanced back at him. ‘We have to go,’ she said, getting up. ‘You’ll stay here. The doors will be locked, and there is no other way out of this room. Don’t try to move. You’ll only hurt yourself.’
‘Let me the fuck out of here,’ Nick growled.
He took a menacing step towards her. Marlow suddenly stood to attention, putting his body between them. He was a tall man, but he was in his sixties now: even Regiment training did you no good in a fight once you got past a certain age. Nick knew he could take him apart with a couple of blows. ‘Back off,’ Marlow said. ‘We’ve got dozens of guards in here who’d be only too happy to beat the crap out of you.’
Laura had already opened the door, and Marlow moved swiftly behind her. Nick took a couple of steps forward to follow them, but in the next instant the door slammed shut. He pushed hard against it, but it had already been locked. He started pulling on the steel handle, but there was no give in it.
‘You bastards,’ he muttered.
Turning round, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He took a sip of the water from the desk, trying to calm himself down. His heart was thumping, and he could feel his pulse racing. What kind of brutal game have they been playing with Sarah, he asked himself. If she gets hurt, I’ll make them pay for it with their blood.
He looked at the television. The sound was still turned down, and he couldn’t see a remote to turn the volume up. On the screen, he could see a panoramic view of Baghdad at night. The city was shrouded in darkness. Then he could see one or two flashes of lights. Lightning? An explosion? No, Nick realised, with a sudden chill to his spine. I know what that light looks like. I’m familiar with the sudden, violent thunderball that splits open the sky. I’ve seen it before.
A cruise missile.
Suddenly, the lights were popping up over the screen like a firework display. The city, as displayed on the TV screen, was bathed in an ugly mixture of blue, orange and white. A terrifying storm was engulfing the place, turning what were once streets and roads into a raging inferno of smoke and fire.
On the screen, underneath the picture, Nick could read the rolling headline news. ‘Shock and Awe attack starts on Baghdad,’ it read. ‘Allies launch massive missile strikes.’
Christ, thought Nick.
He wiped away a fresh layer of sweat that had formed on his brow.
The war has started already.
And Sarah is right there, somewhere in the middle of it.
TWENTY-TWO
Jed lay perfectly still. He’d already checked his watch a dozen times, and there was no point in checking it again. The time for waiting had passed. The war would start in the next few seconds.
Looking down, he could see movement. A black van was pulling up at the plant. Inside the courtyard, the door to the admin building was open, and he could see several figures running back and forth.
Jesus, he thought. Do they know something?
He listened intently. For the past three hours, he’d just been lying here, listening to the sounds of the city. It was quiet. Baghdad was already in a state of high alert. All the lights had been turned out, as a blackout as well as a curfew had been imposed. The people were inside their houses, keeping their heads down, hoping for the best. Only a few ventured outside, and then they risked being rounded up by the police and soldiers. Twice, he had seen people shot on the streets below, as the army rushed forwards, building up its defences. Most of the time, however, the city was virtually silent, with just the low background noise of a couple of million people trying to keep out of harm’s way.
Now, he could hear something different.
At first, it was a low, growling sound, like a blocked d
rain.
Then an audible buzz, like a washing machine.
And now, a whooshing sound, as the air was sucked out of the sky.
The sound of an incoming cruise missile.
He leant in, checking the LTD. The laser was in position. Its beam was locked onto the main orb within the compound, providing perfect guidance for the incoming strike.
He could see the cruise flying overhead now, and started counting down the seconds in his head. The missile was long and thin, like a cigar, but it moved so fast through the air, all Jed could see was a flash of hot metal slicing through the night sky.
Five, four …
Something was moving in the compound. The van had been loaded. The gates had been opened. It was driving away …
‘What the fuck’s happening down there?’ muttered Jed.
‘They’re scarpering,’ said Matt. ‘Sodding chicken ragheads. They’re buggering off just as things turn interesting.’
Three, two …
The van was skidding into the street, its lights flashing, and even a kilometre away Jed could hear its horn blaring.
One …
Jed steeled himself, taking a sharp intake of breath.
Impact.
The missile collided with the plant, crashing into its target with pinpoint accuracy. There was a momentary stillness in the air, as the hardened tip of the missile forged its deadly path into the metal skin of the plant. It drilled into the building, cutting a channel through it. Jed held his breath. In the next fraction of a second, its explosives detonated. How much power had been packed into the missile, Jed had no way of knowing, but from the sudden gust of wind that rustled past his ears as the missile ignited, he guessed it was at least a couple of hundred pounds of explosives. A flash of lightning suddenly struck up into the air, and he could smell the burning of metal, wood, oil and flesh. A wave of heat rolled out from the plant, hitting him straight in the face, as if the whole city had just been put into the microwave.
A chorus of strangled screams started to rise up from the plant: the pitiful, anguished moaning of bodies that were already burnt beyond survival. Flames were licking up around the centre, and a huge, thick cloud of black smoke was billowing above it. Jed could see the soldiers on the perimeter rushing into action. Men were shouting, running in different directions, but the strike had already destroyed their command and control. No one had any idea what to do. Glancing sideways, he could see the black van screeching down the side road that led out of the city, its lights flashing and its siren screaming.
It had escaped, unscathed.
Whatever the hell it was.
Jed could suddenly hear the noise again.
Another approaching missile.
He looked up into the sky. There were missiles coming in from all directions. The city was full of noise and light, as if you were trapped in the middle of an electronic thunderstorm. From up here, they had a grandstand view of the mayhem. There were flashes and explosions everywhere. Jed looked to his right. A missile was striking the centre of the Republican Palace compound, closely followed by another one. Two huge explosions rocked the ground, crashing into Jed’s eardrums. Great walls of fire were shooting up into the sky. He looked to his left. A missile had struck one of the bridges, slicing it clean in half, sending a river of flame licking down into the streets on either side. Another had crashed straight into the Tigris, sending jets of water high into the air, then creating a fifteen-foot wave that was hurtling down the riverbed.
‘Jesus, they’re taking down the whole sodding city,’ gasped Jed.
‘Nice of them to fucking tell us,’ said Matt. ‘Seeing as we’re in the fucking middle of it.’
Instinctively, Jed ducked, as a missile flew in low over his head. It was maybe fifty feet above him but, looking up, he could see its thick steel hide whizzing past. Within seconds it had crashed into the plant. A deafening roar rolled out through the building, shattering windows and making the building shake. People were flooding out into the streets, shouting and crying. Too frightened to stay inside, thought Jed. This is what it must have been like during the worse nights of the Blitz.
‘There’s soldiers on the bloody stairs,’ shouted Matt.
Jed spun round. Matt was peering down the stairwell that led down into the interior of the building. ‘That old guy who was following us earlier, he’s bloody come to get us,’ he said. Sweat was pouring off his face, and his voice was ragged. His AK-47 had already been whipped out of his kitbag. He was jabbing the tip of his gun down into the stairwell, and had already loosened off a couple of rounds of fire. About five miles to the left, another missile had crashed into the city, sending an electric firestorm shooting up into the sky and briefly making it as bright as the middle of the day. Down below, soldiers were streaming away from the burning plant, shouting and firing their guns to clear the streets. Up above, Jed felt certain he could hear the sound of more oncoming missiles. ‘Get me a bloody grenade,’ shouted Matt.
The sweat was streaming down the side of his face, mixing with the blackening on his skin. His eyes were bloodshot and tense, glinting with a murderous anger.
Jed threw open his kitbag, and ran towards the stairs, passing Matt two grenades. ‘They’re fucking looking for us,’ said Matt.
He ripped the pin from the stun grenade, and tossed it down the stairs. Jed listened to it rattling across the concrete as it fell, then the burst of noise as it exploded. Both men paused for a second, while the smell of thick, acrid smoke started to drift back up the stairs. Matt ripped the pin on the second grenade and tossed it down. Within seconds, they heard the blast and the muffled screams of the men below.
‘I’m going down,’ said Matt. ‘You count for one minute, then follow my arse.’
Jed flinched as another missile crashed into the city. How far away it was he couldn’t tell. Two miles, maybe three. The rolling sound of explosions was rocking the night, and the sky was now completely lit up by fires and explosions. Down below, the Iraqi Army was wildly shooting up into the sky, trying to hit the incoming missiles. Poor sods, thought Jed grimly. They might as well be using pea-shooters for all the good they are doing.
‘It’s too bloody dangerous,’ shouted Jed.
‘It’s my fucking skin,’ shouted Matt. ‘I’ll decide when to risk it.’
Jed grabbed his arm. It was suicide for him to go down there by himself. The army could be crawling all over the staircase. They were outgunned. ‘It’s bloody madness,’ he shouted. ‘We can defend this position.’
‘Let go of my fucking arm,’ growled Matt.
‘You’ve no bloody idea what’s down there.’
‘I said let the fuck go,’ shouted Matt, shrugging him aside. ‘Steve and Rob are already dead because you keep fucking up. I’m not going down as well.’
He ripped himself free, and disappeared down the staircase. His AK-47 was held out in front of him, and he was already ripping loose, firing off round after round. Thick clouds of yellow smoke were billowing up the stairs from the grenades. Another missile was streaking through the sky, and in the next second the building shook as the ground three miles away was shattered by another incoming strike.
Jed heard a scream. Matt, he thought instantly. There was a volley of gunfire, then more shouting. ‘Fuck it,’ he muttered. ‘Here goes.’
With his AK-47 in front of him, Jed plunged into the smoke. He was holding his breath, but his eyes were already wet and stinging from the smoke. He was tearing down the stairs, his feet crashing into the concrete. Another scream. A woman this time. Or maybe a child. It was impossible to tell amid the noise. He pressed on, down one flight of stairs, then another. Suddenly a movement caught his eye. Jed narrowed his eyes, focusing hard through the billowing smoke. A hand. With a gun in it. Jed didn’t think the man had seen him yet, but he might well have heard him. Gripping on to the AK-47, Jed slammed his finger hard into the trigger. The bullets rattled from the barrel of the gun, smashing into the man’s body like a storm
of lethal hailstones. He turned, looking up at Jed, but the blood was already seeping from his open wounds. In the next instant he’d collapsed. Jed skipped over his body. The smoke was thinning out as he went down another level. A woman was cowering in the doorway, her body rigid with fear. Jed crashed down one more level. A body was lying crumpled in front of him. Jed looked down. A black sweatshirt, and a couple of days’ growth of beard.
Matt.
You mad bugger, thought Jed grimly.
He knelt down, but it only took a moment to realise he was dead. He must have taken at least three or four bullets straight to his head, smashing open his skull. Half his brain was smeared across the damp concrete.
There was just one more flight of stairs. Jed loosed off a burst of gunfire, but the stairs had been cleared already. The smoke from the grenades was clearing, and he could hear nothing except the wailing of a baby inside one of the apartments and the sobs of the mother as she tried to calm it. We should fight our bloody wars in the desert, thought Jed, as he ran down the last flight of stairs. Not in here, the centre of a city, among ordinary people.
With a sharp intake of breath, Jed filled his lungs as soon as he hit the street. He had to get away from here, find somewhere he could hide until the missile strike was done with and he could check in with the Firm to arrange his pickup. There was sweat pouring off his face and back, his gun hanging from his chest. The streets had descended into panic. A few people turned to look at him, unsure whether he was a soldier or not, but most were running in all directions, shouting, pushing and jostling one another. Jed could see the fear in the faces, but also glimpses of defiance. They were steeling themselves for a long fight. Up ahead, a huge ball of fire was still leaping out of the plant, illuminating the night sky like a bonfire. A couple of miles to the right, more fires were raging. You could feel the whole city getting hotter and hotter by the minute. Just then, the ground shook, and the echo of an explosion started to rumble through the streets. Another missile strike. Jesus, Jed thought. What the hell is our strategy here? Just to keep bombing the bloody place until it’s completely flattened?